Hormones and Other Catastrophes
by tiddlywinks
Summary: Hermione fights her own transfigured hormones in a tug of war between Snape and Lupin. AU, 7th year fic.
1. Nature of the Beast

A/N: This is an idea that has been drifting around in my head for a while. I have some ideas of where this is going, but I don't tend to plot things out very far I'd love to hear any complaints or suggestions.

This fic ignores HBP entirely!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, but I promise to Obliviate them and put them back when I'm done.

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Remus Lupin sat in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place and considered the nature of the beast.

Most of the close-minded fear-mongering people who hated werewolves regardless of position or circumstance (such as those who had lost him his DADA job at Hogwarts a few years ago) were closer to the truth than he'd care to admit. A werewolf was always a werewolf. Remus was just as much a werewolf now when he was half-asleep and drinking coffee as he was under an unmedicated moon.

The sad thing was that he couldn't really remember not being this way. Turned as a child he had simply gone on with his life as best he could, and with a private need for self-control that would rival even Snape. Remus sighed and took another sip of his coffee. It's quite possible that he would never forgive Sirius for what he had done, or rather had tried to do. He snorted inelegantly: at one point in time he thought there could be nothing he would ever agree on with Severus Snape.

But puberty's a bitch, and that's even without a direct line inside to something that skipped a million years of evolution and had hotwired needs into the base of his spine. But he had come through relatively unscarred, and most people who knew him personally or professionally would profess him to be a gentle man. This is of course not counting the aforementioned dour potions master who would instead describe Lupin as being an 'insufferable waste of space'. Yet Lupin really was gentle – in the way of overweight people who hunch their shoulders in an effort to take up less space. Remus _worked_ at it. He was always aware of the beast stirring within and so had to be on his guard.

It wasn't all bad. He was aware of the beast because the beast was aware, and he had no problems with hyper-sensitive senses for an extra edge when they needed it. They were in a war after all. And even if they weren't, who was anyone else to know that to a werewolf a stroll through a simple garden was perhaps one of the headiest experiences Remus could imagine? Of course, this wasn't a _moonlit_ stroll through a garden – he wasn't entirely stupid. But the human-shaped version of a werewolf had its own pleasures. Pleasures he held close to his chest in case anyone should ever know and finger him for enjoying anything about who he was.

His abilities weren't constant – they tended to be stronger both sides of a full moon. Right now he was suffering the werewolf equivalent to PMS: his smell and hearing were almost as good as they would be changed, and impulse control was seriously lacking. Not to mention the serious introspection that was always triggered at such times he thought with a sigh. Pushing down his animal instincts was always harder at such a time although he did it automatically as a matter of course. Like Hermione Granger who had to work twice as hard to be accepted an equal to a pureblood, Remus Lupin worked to be more normal than normal.

_Speak of the devil_ thought Remus as Hermione entered the kitchen and near-stumbled the time-honoured path straight to the kettle. She stretched to grab the sugar from a high shelf. The back of her pyjama top rode up, revealing a strip of smooth light skin and the hint of a spine.

_Or more like, speak of an angel_ the beast within added in admiration. Well, his mind supplied the words and the animal provided the jolt in his lower stomach.

He tore his eyes off her back and into his coffee with a vengeance. _Down boy_.

Of course, he could look wherever he wanted or close his eyes altogether, but he couldn't stop the insidious scents of the woman across the room from infiltrating through his sensitive nostrils. His face twitched as he began to automatically dissect the layers. _Vanilla_: inexpensive perfume. Hard to tell with the preservative, but from a bottle that had been open for at least four months. _Jasmine_: wait, not Jasmine but some Muggle chemical alternative. Real coconut oil with it though… he could only assume some kind of body wash or shampoo. And then there, there it was. Sweat and skin and hair and breath… the real scent of Hermione Granger underneath the perfume and coffee she was now drinking, underneath the potion ingredients that she had been preparing yesterday (_Alfodel and Clover_ his mind helpfully supplied), underneath the cotton of the clothes (_purple dye from molluscs_) she was wearing—

—_Merlin's Beard, get yourself under control. Do not think of anything under Miss Granger's clothes._

Lupin fought to get his breathing steady as Snape stalked into the kitchen. He and Hermione had been working on various potions for the order for half the summer, but he ignored her in his sweep to get to the most important goal. Coffee. Remus' eyes flicked up at this. Distracted though he may be, it was unusual for Hermione not to politely greet anyone. He narrowed his eyes in thought as he observed her slumped form at the opposite end of the table. Coffee mug gripped tightly between both hands, face slightly flushed. There was something there too, in her scent. He breathed in slowly and carefully, now focused on breaking down what he had only been doing half-consciously before.

Dismissing the cover scents he had already identified, he dove for the base. She smelt older than her 17 years. _Woman_, the beast reminded him with another prod to the stomach. Although the werewolf within would identify any female between the ages of 14 and 100 as 'woman', this felt like something more. Although as far as articulation went his hindbrain could go no further than… _REALLY woman_.

"Hermione," he said as she began to shift uncomfortably in her chair. "Are you alright?" Her answer was cut off by sharp taps at the window by a messenger owl. Severus grunted and reached out a hand from where he was leaning against the bench to flip the catch and let it in. And it was then with the fresh gust of warm air from a London summer that blew Hermione's hair and scent directly towards him that gave him the realisation of what was wrong with her.

The girl – _woman_ his stomach and lower growled back at him – was putting out enough pheromones to power Gryffindor tower's female dormitory. Alone. No wonder the beast within had been yammering at him from the moment she had entered the room. He had put it down to his usual dose of pre-lunar tension but it was obvious that the problem wasn't with him. And he hadn't been the only one to notice it. Woven in with Hermione's overwhelming presence in the room he could now sense something far more masculine.

Snape's eyes were focused on Hermione over the scrap of parchment delivered by the owl. _Although he doesn't know why_ thought Remus with an internal howl. With the nose of a Potions master it was unsurprising Hermione's scent had captured his attention. He probably just thought there was something different about her today. And there was. He could feel his spine stiffening as he scented another man's arousal for a woman he had noticed first… He plonked his cup down with a groan. This was bad.

Hermione had shifted her attention from the table to him at the sound of his groan, while Severus had seemingly jumped from his scrutiny of her to the parchment in front of him, rearranging his robes as he did so. But Remus' awareness of Snape was nothing more than a bare periphery. Hermione's eyes were so dilated they were almost black, and they drew him in with a vengeance.

_His eyes are so intense_ thought Hermione as she stared down the table at her former professor. _No!_ She tore her eyes and thoughts away from him with an internal wrench. _Do you want to take medication forever? You beat this and you beat it now! _Unlike the increasingly suspicious man at the table and the fidgety professor at her back, Hermione knew exactly what had changed about her. Absolutely nothing. Which is to say, she was still the same person she was last year and the year before. She was not however, the same person she had been in her second year of schooling. The year she had taken a botched polyjuice potion and stained her life without even knowing it. The visible effects of the potion only lasted an hour a dose, although it could still be detected in a person's system for about a month afterwards. In her case though, her feline-botched potion had much longer-lasting consequences. As Madam Pomfrey had sat down to explain to her afterwards, she would evermore be part cat. This didn't seem to be too bad with first consideration: even before she knew she was a witch Hermione always had been a 'cat person'. Better reflexes, better night vision… how could that be bad? This misconception became blindingly obvious as Madam Pomfrey had carefully explained the condition and treatment.

As Hermione had been two days away from her first period when she had taken the faulty potion, the part of her the polyjuice had targeted was her reproductive system. This meant that instead of better reflexes instead she got a higher likelihood of multiple births. It meant that instead of night vision she instead got hormone surges whenever her body's cycle demanded that she go 'on heat'. Of course, Madam Pomfrey had said that they would tackle the issue of pregnancy when they got there and arranged a regular hormonal suppressing potion before sealing away her affliction in the filing shelves she used for student medical records.

She had taken her potion regularly for the past four years, but as with many dangerous things over time she had grown to think of it as less of a necessity and more of an annoyance. She often thought that one of the reasons that she was never attracted to any of the boys at school was the potion playing around with her system. Although it had made puberty a lot easier than it might otherwise have been. She had never been given to the hysteric fits of crying Lavender had, or the tempter tantrums that Ginny (a true Weasley) had thrown. She had maintained a mainly cool head and looked upon her dorm-mates with a measure of disdain.

But with typical Gryffindor stubbornness she had decided this was the summer to see if she could face down her affliction – without the aid of a nasty-flavoured brew that she had always explained away to her friends as being a 'vitamin supplement'. She had stopped her doses a month ago as a personal experiment to see whether the outcomes were as bad as Madam Pomfrey had predicted. And until a few nights ago she had been feeling entirely confident: she had been keeping a notebook of her symptoms, but it had been nothing she couldn't handle. There had been some moodiness, but with staying in a secret house with a secret order in the middle of a war it was hardly noticeable. Especially with the background atmosphere of secrecy and Harry's ever-present irritability.

Then the _feelings_ had started.

It began with a need for touch. She didn't notice it at first: Hermione always had been a very tactile person and thought nothing of giving or receiving hugs. But when Ron starts complaining that she wouldn't leave him alone… well if it's not one of the seven signs of the apocalypse it was still definitely time to make an entry in her notebook.

Even after identifying the behaviour it was still near impossible to stop it. She had gotten thrown out of the makeshift laboratory by Professor Snape yesterday for "not having the sense she was born with… if she was born with any." She couldn't help it; it was near-impossible not to keep crowding close to him while they were working. Blissfully she could say that the previous night had not been plagued with the same dreams that had begun cropping up since she had stopped her medication. No, instead she had instead barely slept at all. The sheets had felt too hot and clingy, and she was full of some unknown energy that even two hundred sit-ups couldn't banish. Even the fact she had considered sit-ups was worrying: She was after all Hermione Granger, Queen-Of-The-Unathletic.

Even with these worrying developments she was still intent on seeing this through to its natural end. If she could control it now it meant she would be free from dependence forever. It was a kind of 'cold turkey' approach, but she was sure that she could manage it. Or at least, she had been sure she could manage it. But now with Lupin's heavy gaze still on her and Professor Snape's commanding presence behind her she felt itchy underneath her skin. At the very least there were only four males in the house: the two men in the room with her and Harry and Ron. All of which she could mostly ignore except for Snape… but he wouldn't be too hard to irritate into firing her from her potion-assisting duties. Besides, two platonic friends and two professors (she still had a difficult time not calling Remus sir) shouldn't be that hard to avoid projecting her desires onto. She could ride out the summer in her room or in the library working through this on her own.

She was broken from her reverie when Lupin broke the not-entirely-comfortable silence in the room. "What does the letter say Severus?"

There was a deep rumble from behind her. "The rest of the Weasley's are coming today. Everyone except Percy for obvious reasons."

Everyone but Percy? "You mean Bill and Charlie and the twins are coming?" she squeaked in alarm.

"Last time I checked Miss Granger, they were part of the Weasley family. You would do well to listen when other people talk." With that snide comment he brushed past to exit the room, eliciting a gasp from Hermione when his cloak touched her back.

This was going to be a lot harder than she thought.


	2. Scripting

A/N: In celebration of an exam completed and no more work due for another five days, here is a mini-instalment. Hopefully there will be another one at some point on the weekend. Enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: See ch. 1

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After the excitement of the morning, Hermione had retreated to the library to prepare herself against the onslaught that was sure to occur when the Weasley family descended. With Molly present it meant she couldn't skip public meals, but as long as she avoided any extra socialising it should be ok. Maybe. Hopefully. And she could always get her fill of human contact for the summer with Ginny. They always ended up sharing a room, so she might as well work it to her advantage. _Yes..._ Someone to talk to, with the added benefit of to make excuses for her 'not feeling well'. It might just work after all...

Despite her general Gryffindor sense of subtlety (which is to say, none at all) there was a very good reason why Hermione thought she would be able to pull this off. At Hermione's old school - before she was selected for Hogwarts - there had been a big proud slightly-faded banner proclaiming the 'WONDERS OF LEARNI-G'. The 'N' had fallen off an unnamed age ago, and it had taken some time for the message of the poster to sink in and the library habits of a lifetime to take hold, but at the time it had been a lifeline. Literally: she had been so badly teased that she had regularly faked illness just to stay home and away from her tormentors. That was until she had translated the 'WONDERS OF LEARNI-G' into the 'WONDERS OF LUNCHTIME IN THE LIBRARY' which was far more entertaining, less threatening, and generally much better spelt. But those pre-literary days had taught her something after all, and she had no problem with applying some childhood-honed bogus symptoms if it meant she could tackle her problem unaided: and perhaps most importantly, undiscovered. A summer of sorry-must-go-to-bed-lingering-headaches was preferable to any of the other possibilities her overexcited body was throwing at her. It was just a matter of staying out of everyone's way.

Of course, the first stop on this line of insanity was Professor Snape, re: getting fired. She was due to start work in the next ten minutes… well not 'due' per se, but she generally turned up half an hour after breakfast. It would probably do her good to be late though, as much as it chafed on her punctual soul. Besides, it would give her more time to plan her approach.

Whether it was from a childhood of undeveloped social skills or her inherently bookish nature, Hermione Granger had a distressing habit of scripting out future conversations in her head. Of course, given how many times this approach would fail when tested with actual interaction (the other party would invariably wander off the topic she had assigned them) her logical brain couldn't understand why she would continue with such a pointless exercise. Yet when dealing with Severus Snape it was generally a good idea to have something in mind. He had an off-putting way of disrupting even the most common of conversations.

So, curled in a comfortable chair in the corner and entirely not reading the dusty book propped in her lap, Hermione's thoughts wandered to the next brewing session she had planned with Snape.

**PROFESSOR SNAPE:** The roots need to be chopped into forty-seven pieces. Not forty-six or forty-eight, but forty-seven. If it's not too lowly a job for your soaring intellect that is. _(Not even Hermione at her most deluded would dare to deprive Snape of being snarky)._

**HERMIONE GRANGER:** Yes sir.

**PROFESSOR SNAPE _(softly)_:** Yes sir? It is too lowly a job?

**HERMIONE GRANGER:** No sir. _(Begins work, and roots are duly chopped into a mangled mess. Time passes)._

**PROFESSOR SNAPE _(shouts)_:** Miss Granger! _(On second thought Hermione decided, there was to be no more shouting. He generally preferred to intimidate through insults rather than volume)._ Miss Granger, you have obviously been somehow cheating all these years if you can't complete a simple second-year task. If potions were intrigue, you would be a Hufflepuff.

**HERMIONE GRANGER _(near tears)_:** I'm sorry sir… I'm sorry!

**PROFESSOR SNAPE:** Do you work for You-Know-Who Miss Granger? I haven't seen you at any of the dark revels, but such sheer incompetence from the Gryffindor know-it-all astounds me. You must be a sleeper agent charged with disturbing the Order. _(Here would be a good point for some looming, Hermione decided. Looming and appropriate cowering)._

**HERMIONE 'OSCAR-WINNING' GRANGER _(appropriate cowering)_:** No sir! Please! I'm only trying to help!

**PROFESSOR SNAPE:** No you're right, I can't possibly let you leave yet.

**HERMIONE 'KINDA CONFUSED' GRANGER:** Sir?

**PROFESSOR SEVERUS 'SLYTHERIN SEX GOD' SNAPE _(smirk)_:** I haven't punished you yet. You need a good spanking. _(Oh, and not just a smirk. That line had to be delivered in the lowest of tones. And arms crossed over the chest, and--)_

She snapped back to reality, flushed and breathing heavily.

It was a good thing Snape would never think of her that way.

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Thanks to all that left reviews. If you have any specific questions or suggestions I'm more that happy to answer them here in this space! Your name in lights! (Well, your name in a size 12 arial font in any case).


	3. Reality Bites

A/N: Sorry for the delay everyone… as I mentioned on my profile page (for those of you who are into those kinds of things) I've been finishing out my academic year and as such, have been forced into writing things with words like 'therefore', 'pejorative' and 'As Foucault states…', not to mention writing things with a lot less sex than my usual. Although, come to think of it, perhaps my marks would be better if my professors were more entertained?

Secondly, I am currently without a beta. While I wouldn't go so far as to say I've been crying myself to sleep every night, I must admit to perhaps the odd manly sniffle. So, if anyone is interested… I don't have a dental plan but I will share my recess!

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"No, no, no! A thousand times no, Miss Granger!" Snape's sharp tones drifted through the hallways of the house, echoing into odd corners and bouncing around the furniture. Upstairs, it caused Harry to groan and turn over in his bed, burrowing deeper into his pillow. In the entryway the Weasley twins were being chivvied inside by their unsympathetic mother while they slapped hands over each other's ears in their usual theatrical style. But even they were forced to wince for real at the sounds of shattering glass, quickly followed by a girlish shriek, and then the much closer wail of a certain portrait starting up.

"I sure hope that one didn't come from Snape." said Charlie Weasley, calmly hanging up his cloak. Working with dragons as a career had obviously lessened the impact of mere yelling on his emotional state. This was easier said for him than his brothers: Bill had automatically looked around guiltily at the sound of an enraged Snape before going to try and calm down Mrs. Black, while Ron's face had gone completely white (leaving his freckles in a strangely patterned counterpoint). He had paused coming down the stairs to greet his family, but had leapt into action once more when he realised what was going on.

"That's not Snape, Charlie!" Ron gasped. "The git's trying to kill Hermione!" The last part of his sentence was jerked out of him as Mrs. Weasley grabbed the back of his collar to prevent him from running to confront an obviously furious Professor Snape.

"Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley cut across the 'aww mum' that was bubbling up her youngest son's throat. "Go put our trunks in our room, and leave Professor Snape alone." Her tone brooked no argument, but even her eyes cast a worried glance down the hallway to where everything had gone ominously quiet.

That is, if you didn't count the ranting of Mrs. Black's portrait and Ron's grumbling as he lugged suitcases upstairs.

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Born and raised in the far-from-temperate British Isles, Snape hadn't really understood the lure of the tropics until he was a teenager. Of course, after puberty the appeal of somewhere warm, wet and close became all-consuming. Now however – as a grown man – he could feel nothing but anger brewing within him for the chit of a girl cowering in front of him, half-crying yet still radiating that beguiling sensation of rainforests through her distress. _Yes_, _exactly like a rainforest_, his mind hissed at him. Somewhere dark and moist with a sense of mystery that made men want to thrust themselves into it, to forget normal and civilised life, to ravage away everything that is good and sweet.

With a start, he realised that he had been waxing poetic into thin air while he should have been setting about getting Miss Granger out of his way. It was inappropriate (although he couldn't quite pinpoint exactly what 'it' was), she was inappropriate (she wasn't dressed in particularly revealing clothes but the way she wore her shapeless Weasley jumper somehow felt worse than the most Muggle of lingerie), his desires were inappropriate (_and what desires_)… Her tears though certainly were appropriate, especially if he did what he wanted to do and reached out over the table between them, letting his patented glare drop from his face, smoothing his hands over her shaking shoulders and soothing away her tears with his lips… what's a broken jar of scarab beetles between—

--_Between friends? Between lovers?_ Snape sneered at himself. Those questions didn't even bear thinking about, let alone responding to. A broken jar between Professor and student however, he could answer.

So it was with certain idle self-recriminations that he narrowed his eyes and pointed a silent, heavy hand at the door. "Leave, Miss Granger. Come back tomorrow when you have worked out of your system whatever Longbottom infected you with." It was certainly unlike her to be as haphazard in her ingredient preparation as she had been that morning. A shame too, far past the monetary cost of the stock she had ruined. He had just started to extend to her a grudging respect for her intellectual capabilities, and she had to ruin it with her unfocused clumsiness. And although he was disappointed in her, he was even more disappointed in himself for his instincts being off… unless of course she was ill in some way..? Of course he had made her cry so it was impossible to inspect her eyes for any tell-tale glazing from Behaviour Brew or Mannerly Mixture – and who would have access or reason to affect Miss Granger so, at Headquarters no less? Snape's suspicious mind began to ratchet through possibilities as he flicked his hand in a final gesture of dismissal, killing his rising insults and Miss Granger's stuttered apology in one.

Hermione goggled at him for a second before seemingly coming to her senses and beating a hasty retreat. Unfortunately for Snape's guiltily aching libido, he missed the smile that crept onto her features as she ducked past him. But to be fair, Hermione missed the Potion Master's unconcealed shudder as he caught the faint scent of tropical temptation…

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Lupin too had heard the bad-tempered Potion Master's tirade and had been making his way to rescue the bushy-haired maiden. Infuriating inexplicable hormones or no, she didn't deserve to put up with an antsy Severus. It wouldn't be his fault of course, but Remus Lupin wasn't going to stand aside and allow Snape to throw away a teaching career on a student. _A student we scented first_, his traitorous mind-voice supplied.

His hindbrain was enthusiastically agreeing with its usual subtlety, but at least it wasn't trying to lie. _Rescue her indeed_, the logical part of him scoffed, _you just want to see her again._ And then, far more slyly than any truth-telling voice should be capable of, it added: _and then maybe do more than just see her..?_

This internal wish was granted rather sooner than expected as Hermione came through the kitchen cupboard than was the not-so-secret entrance to the second basement that was the potions workroom, running into Remus and knocking them both down. It seemed that even his yammering internal beast was shocked into silence at this sudden armful of young womanhood. Indeed his whole brain appeared to have frozen in shock; his thoughts now shattered into nothing but free-floating chunks of ice. _Woman… Armful…_ _Good…_ An arctic fish slid past: _I'd settle for a handful over an armful actually_.

Of course the rest of his body wasn't following the pleasantly chilly metaphors of his brain. Hermione had aborted her first tentative movement to stand as she felt something hard prod against her thigh. Experimentally she moved her leg again, wringing a whimper from the man beneath her. Looking down she peeked at the face of her former professor, trying to gauge his reaction. A flare of embarrassment caught and spun her dizzily for a second – he wouldn't even meet her eye! She forced down her mortification to say something suitably apologetic, but as she swallowed she noticed the reason that Remus hadn't looked in the eye was that he was too busy staring fixedly at her throat.

For his part, his eyes were indeed riveted to the lovely Miss Granger's throat. So creamy and pale and thrumming so close to his teeth. The creature within him forced his tongue out to run over his teeth as the soft exhalation of breathing began to shift to a low vibration. Slowly, he lifted his lips to the base of her throat, rolling his tongue across the strumming pulse he could see fluttering so vulnerably there. The beast ululated joyously as his lips eased back, scraping tooth against skin tilted so enticingly in front of him, a soft half-nip that answered the question that had plagued him since this morning: 'how does she taste?' His jaw began to stretch as he sought to grab her throat in the trust-bite that dangerously whispered _I could so hurt you right now…_

He rolled his head to the side in frustration, snapping his teeth together with an audible click.

The movement seemed to break the trance, Hermione's leg brushing once more over his manhood with finality as the pushed herself into a standing position. The beast howled silently at the lost proximity, complaining bitterly and cajoling desperately in a jumble of desire.

"Are you okay?" Hermione's breath was fast and shallow, and she gripped the chair behind her so hard Remus wondered whether he had hurt her

_It wasn't a hunting-bite!_ No, it had been something far, far worse and he was a shoddier man than Snape. Whatever the hell his greasy ex-adversary had tried to pull that had sent Hermione running from their work would be a thousand times more forgivable than what he had tried to instigate. At least he knew what was affecting him, and even then he still tried to take advantage of the situation. Horrified at his loss of control, Remus ignored the soft questioning lilt of Hermione's enquiry, and fled from the room.

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Reviews are appreciated… and for those who already have – look, I gave you Remus action already! Telling me what you want can have the amazing effect of you actually getting it :P


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